Sherlock Drabbles
by MaximumKy
Summary: As the title says, drabbles for BBC's "Sherlock". I have a NO SLASH policy. Sherlock and John's adventures, antics, and relationships with the other characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Prompt: It's snowing.**

Dr. John Watson was quite sure that he would rather be sitting at home, at 221B Baker Street, than out in the cold.

But then again, he thought in Sherlock's voice, where's the fun in that?

The wind was biting at his and Sherlock Holmes' faces. And, John thought bitterly, he, unlike Sherlock, had no scarf. He hadn't anticipated this type of weather.

As if hearing his jealous thoughts, but most likely reading the look on his agitated face, Sherlock smirked.

"Cold, John?"

"Remind me again why we're here."

"Investigating."

They were walking down a deserted street. Or rather, John was walking while Sherlock was gliding. He was in his element. It was quite annoying in John's opinion.

After a long pause, John spoke.

"You don't seem the least bit cold."

"No..."

"It's snowing."

"Brilliant deduction, John."

"Well let me borrow the scarf, then."

Sherlock gave John a look.

"What? _I'm_ cold!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt: home, feeding, sniff, one, dressing**

John heard an odd sound. He looked around at Sherlock to find him sniffing the air like a hopeful dog.

"Erm, Sherlock...?"

"Ah, the smell of lies, betrayal, and a hint of smoke. Reminds me of home."

Sherlock grinned. John didn't even want to know what Sherlock was talking about, and he made a mental note never to mention this to Mycroft.

John and Sherlock were currently standing in a dilapidated house that, in John's opinion, was far from a suitable place to live in. Dust floated through the air and cobwebs hung off what was left of the furniture, dressing it in ghostly wisps.

"I feel as if I've been here before. This is the type of house where secrets congregate, and in which simple-minded old women talk about its inhabitants, feeding on their misery."

John was getting the creeps, and Sherlock was behaving oddly. Perhaps more oddly than usual.

"Perhaps this one is a case we should leave alo-" John began, but he knew it was futile.

He could tell that Sherlock had to get to the bottom of this. He just hoped that whatever memories and feelings the house stirred up in Sherlock would not interfere with him solving it. They probably wouldn't, but John was the type of person who believed that what dwells in the past is better off staying there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompt: "Sherlock, you're making me nervous."**

Sherlock Holmes and his brother Mycroft were on a Ferris wheel for the first time.

"I would die to get a look in every seat on this thing."

"Sherlock, why in the world would you want to waste any more time on this contraption?"

"Calm down, Mycroft..."

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock was on his toes, attempting to get a better look at the next seat.

"Sherlock, you're making me nervous."

"Can't you feel the history of this thing? It's incredible! See that lady over there?" He pointed.

"Yes, yes, if I let you tell me about her will you please sit _down_?"

Mycroft, unlike his brother, was better at concentrating on his surroundings and more practiced at it. Probably because he didn't much care for petty things.

"She's been coming here for the past 30 years. She's still wearing a wedding ring, but I can tell her husband has been dead for a while. She must have-"

"Enough, Sherlock. Just try to please _stay_ in your _seat_. You can't even enjoy a simple day at the amusement park! Mum and dad are down there, you know. I don't know if they saw you, but if they did you must have given them a heart attack! Why don't you ever think about your own safety?"

"Because _Mycroft_, it's the last thing on my mind." Sherlock grumbled.

But Sherlock didn't realize how much it worried him. Mycroft was getting tired of looking after him, saving him from himself. But someday, he decided, he wouldn't be there. That was what worried him the most.


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt: Sherlock and John face several opponents armed only with water guns. How do they do it?**

"Sherlock, I admit, I never thought we could do it."

"Of course we could!"

John Watson chuckled, "Well, you didn't seem to think so at the time."

"We just had to...ah...believe in ourselves."

Yeah, and get lucky...John thought as he remembered their adventure of the previous afternoon.

Sherlock and John had been working on a case that dealt with a series of suspicious deaths. Oddly, it led them to a deserted toy store across town. John remembered how baffled he had been, and he had wondered that maybe Sherlock Holmes was wrong.

But he usually wasn't. As John began making his way back to the door of the store, he heard Sherlock's tense voice.

"Someone is here."

Sherlock pointed towards the other entrance. He and John made their way through the aisles, attempting not to make a sound. But then John realized it.

"Sherlock! We haven't any weapons!"

"Oh. Well. That could be a slight problem. What to do..."

John was beginning to panic. They were in a darkened toy store and were about to face who knows what with no means of defense.

But Sherlock's face brightened, to the relief and slight dread of John.

"We passed a supply closet when we first walked in."

John didn't understand.

"And?"

"Go back to the outdoors section and grab some water guns."

"Alright, Sherlock, but we haven't time for experiments. Water guns? Really?"

"Just do it John, before we're found. We're lucky this place is so big."

When John returned, Sherlock grabbed the water guns and began filling them with a strange, smoking, acid-like liquid from a bucket.

"Found these chemicals in the supply closet...careful not to get it on your hands."

He handed John a water gun.

"I can't take it."

"Why not?" Sherlock looked exasperated.

"Its pink!"

"Honestly, John, it's a water gun! Who cares?"

"Well I don't want a *pink* one, I mean-"

John trailed off as they heard footsteps coming closer.

"Hey, Jerry, look at these two. Think they're gonna stop us with some water guns!"

His partner came around the corner and they both started laughing as they pulled out _their_guns. Which were very real.

John and Sherlock looked at each other and simultaneously started squirting. The acid burned their skin immediately, turning it a flaming red. They started to aim but Sherlock and John squirted the liquid directly in their eyes. They screeched and clamped their hand over their faces. Sherlock displayed an peculiar amount of agility and grabbed their guns.

John still laughed at the memory.

"You looked like a ballerina. And you had the pink one."

Sherlock scowled and said nothing.

"And I will never forget the look on Lestrade's face when he arrived."

Sherlock grinned.

"Yes, I don't think he'll ever look at us the same way again."


	5. Chapter 5

**Prompt: Over time, John began to realize that the music issuing from Sherlock's violin always coincided with the thoughts running through his mind.**

Dr. John Watson was always learning new things ever since he became the flat mate of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. New things about himself, about Sherlock, about London. Peculiar things. Interesting things. Dangerous things He learned something new every day. He probably knew too much for his own good. Sometimes, he learned something after a few weeks, or months. One thing he realized over time became something he never forgot, a symbol of his friendship with Sherlock, a symbol of their bond.

Sherlock was playing the violin again. John was used to it, he played it quite frequently. It was odd, though, because he always seemed to play something totally different all the time. John never really thought about it.

Probably because he had never really noticed before. Because all he ever really thought about these days was how grateful he was to have Sherlock back in his life after he thought he had died. A lot of the time he was still filled with sorrow as he thought about what his life had been like, and would be like now, without Sherlock. And he constantly feared for his friend's life, especially after the encounter with Jim Moriarty. He never told Sherlock this, though.

Stop it, he thought as his fingers automatically began to type all of this on his blog. People don't care about John's worries, he thought. He also didn't want Sherlock to find out on the rare chance that he looked at the blog.

As he listened absentmindedly to Sherlock's music, he finally heard what he was listening to. It was a sad, melancholy song, filled with fear and desperation. It was filled with what John had been feeling as he thought about Sherlock again.

Then he realized that ever since he had been back, Sherlock had been playing that song. He decided this must be a coincidence. Being "dead" for a while can't have been fun...he thought bitterly.

As he typed some more, John thought about what Sherlock had played ever since he had moved into 221B. When he first arrived, the songs sounded meek and nervous and apprehensive. Then they turned cheerful as he settled in and became Sherlock's friend. Sometimes when John was thinking of something that made him angry or upset, the music changed accordingly.

John looked up. Sherlock was staring out the window as he played.

He couldn't believe that the music issuing from Sherlock's violin always seemed to coincide with what he was thinking.

"Sherlock."

He looked over.

"The music."

"Yes?"

"Have you-do you-is it-I mean-am I-are you-"

"Yes."

"...Why?"

"Because John, I always played what I felt or what I was thinking. And I played to help myself think. But that doesn't really work-my mind is too full. So while I'm trying to think, I look at you to see what you're thinking. And I play along. I actually think it helps you, too, even if you don't know it."

"...Oh."

Even though it went unsaid, from that day on they both realized how much they needed each other. It was like they were brothers. "Not in blood, but in bond."


	6. Chapter 6

**For "A Scandal in Belgravia"**

Dr. John Watson didn't know what to make of it. Ever since his encounter with one Irene Adler, his flat mate and best friend, Sherlock Holmes, had changed. John wasn't quite sure if it was for the better or for the worse.

Sherlock rarely spoke of her, but when he did, he referred to her as "The Woman".

John used to be certain that Sherlock felt no emotion akin to love for anyone. He had never known him to be in any kind of relationship. The only woman Sherlock cared for was Mrs. Hudson. As she said, "Who knows what goes on in that funny head of his?"

John didn't think Sherlock's perfectly logical mind could allow him to love anyone. What he felt was respect and admiration for the one person who was able to outsmart him.

So why did Sherlock seem so heartbroken?


	7. Chapter 7

Irene Adler pressed send. She sighed. She knew she shouldn't do this. It was all a game before. But then things changed. She couldn't help it.

After all the men she had been with, all the things she had done, Irene Adler had fallen for Sherlock Holmes.

Part of her still didn't understand it. Because even though Irene was The Woman, she knew nothing of love. She would never dare to admit it, but this was as new to her as it was to Sherlock.

She knew, deep down, in the recesses of her clever mind, that this is what she had been looking for all along. She was always a secret, always used, never to be thought of again. Unless she made sure of it by blackmail or some other method. And then she needed protection because she was never safe.

Irene wanted to be loved. She wanted to feel safe. It was odd that she wanted these things from the coldest, most logical man in London.

Sometimes she wondered about her conversation with John.

"You've been flirting with Sherlock Holmes!" He had sounded amazed, bewildered.

"He doesn't reply," she had pointed out.

"Sherlock always replies..."

That thought lodged itself in her mind, and kept her going. Even though he didn't reply, her texts had affected him.

She remembered a couple nights ago, when he had figured out the pass code to her phone. When he told her she had lost, and proved that love is a distraction. He had taken her quickened pulse and looked into her dilated eyes.

Part of her wanted to think that he wasn't doing those things just to win. She had felt something else.

Irene looked at her phone one last time to make sure her text had been delivered-

Goodbye Mr Holmes

-and handed it to her enemy. One of them stepped up with his sword, ready to finally take her life.

She closed her eyes.

And heard her ringtone. The one she had personalized on Sherlock's phone.

She looked up at her masked attacker. She knew those eyes. Those icy blue eyes that sparkled with a million thoughts a minute. The eyes that had looked at her like no one else had. The eyes she couldn't read.

He had replied.


	8. Chapter 8

**Prompt: John realized, with a jolt of surprise and of sadness, that Sherlock hadn't thought that John would be worried - that he was used to nobody being worried about him - that he didn't understand why John _should _be worried about him.**

John Watson tapped his feet nervously. He was _this close_to calling Lestrade.

The door of 221B Baker Street finally opened. Sherlock Holmes strolled in.

"Sherlock! Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick! It's 5a.m.!" John burst out.

Sherlock looked at him blankly.

"Late night in the lab, that's all."

"I thought you were *dead*! Dead! Again!"

The thought of the time when Sherlock had been "dead" brought somber looks to both of their faces.

Sherlock seemed to shake it off first.

"I don't understand why you were so worried, John."

"What do you mean? You're my best friend!"

Sherlock looked puzzled.

John realized, with a jolt of surprise and sadness, that Sherlock hadn't thought that John would be worried - that he was used to nobody being worried about him - that he didn't understand why John _should _be worried about him.

"Sherlock, I care about you. That's what friends do. That's why I worry. Especially after everything that's happened."

Sherlock processed this idea.

"It's kind of nice."

"What?"

"Having a friend."


	9. Chapter 9

**Prompt: John realized, with a jolt of surprise and of sadness, that Sherlock hadn't thought that John would be worried - that he was used to nobody being worried about him - that he didn't understand why John _should _be worried about him. (Adler edition)**

Sherlock Holmes was alone in the flat at 221B for the day. He was playing the violin when someone knocked on the door downstairs. He went to open the door, thinking John Watson had probably forgotten his key again.

A gasp.

"You're alive."

"I am..."

Irene Adler's eyes were shining with tears. He had never seen her cry before. Not even when she was about to be killed. She was a strong woman. She was The Woman.

He led her inside, still slightly taken aback.

She took a seat on the couch, half-smiling when she saw his violin. Then she looked up at him, and seemed to realize what she was doing.

"I'm sorry about this. I know I'm not even supposed to be in this country, let alone in your flat."

He nodded. "Dangerous."

"But I don't care. I read on John's blog that you weren't dead and I had to see for myself. I couldn't believe it."

"I don't understand why you would risk your life. You could have called, you know."

The tears were falling more freely now as Irene realized that he didn't understand why she was here.

"Because I care about you. You're my first."

He snorted. "Hardly."

"You're my first love."

Irene was as surprised at herself as he was. She watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. Sherlock didn't understand why she would care about him. It had never crossed his mind.

For once Sherlock Holmes had nothing to say. He walked over to his desk and pulled open a drawer, pulling out a small object. Then he sat down next to her. He tried for the millionth time to read her, like he read everyone else, but once again he failed. She was different. The Woman. The only Woman.

He reached out to touch her face with one hand, wiping a tear away, and with the other he placed the small object in her hand.

He smiled. She started laughing.

"My phone!"


End file.
